


cause you feel like home

by luminarai



Category: The Get Down (TV)
Genre: Boys In Love, Kissing, M/M, That's it, that's the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 16:14:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10643466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luminarai/pseuds/luminarai
Summary: Often, Dizzee feels like his daytime dreams are more vivid that the ones he has at night.





	

**Author's Note:**

> possibly the sappiest thing I've ever written. and if that isn't enough, the title's from adele's 'when we were young' because I'm a total sucker.

Dizzee wakes to the faint sound of sirens and the weight of an arm around his waist. He blinks groggily, always slow to re-enter the waking world. 

The whisper of a dream lingers somewhere in the far part of his brain. Something about a house with wings and a small moon that kept flickering whenever Dizzee touched it. Boo Boo had been there, too, painted in uncertain greens. But nothing solid. 

Often, Dizzee feels like his daytime dreams are more vivid that the ones he has at night. 

Lazy dust particles sway in the mellow beam of sunlight that the studio’s dirty windows allow in. Dizzee breathes in the lingering chemical smell of paint and something else, something that belongs entirely to him and Thor. 

It makes a smile spread on his lips, turning his face towards the line of warmth against his side. Thor’s asleep still, face tucked into the space between Dizzee’s shoulder and throat. His breath washes gently against Dizzee’s collarbone. It’s so quiet. 

Dizzee rarely gets to appreciate silence like this. He’s grown up in a house that’s always full of people; usually he wakes up to somebody hollering at somebody else. That is its own comfort, in a way, but he likes this too. It’s an intimate sense of quiet, like a secret between him and Thor’s slow, trusting breath. Rumi floats content somewhere inside him, the part of him that’s Marcus settled in his own manner. The city is only a faint hum outside, only the two of them in this space they created.

Dizzee has always slept on his back like he’s trying to stare through the ceiling into the night sky. Thor sleeps curled on his side, molding himself into Dizzee’s body, always keeping close. And isn’t that a thrilling thought, that Dizzee knows how Thor sleeps, that they have spent enough nights together for him to know such a detail. 

Dizzee’s close enough to nose against the golden crown of Thor’s head and breathe him in. He raises the arm that isn’t trapped under Thor’s sleepy embrace to rub the sleep out of his own eyes and then trail curious fingers down Thor’s bare shoulder, tracing the light freckles on the broad muscle of his bicep down to the pale, paint speckled fingers. 

He and Thor are alike in all the ways that matter but different in ways that sends thrills down Dizzee’s spine. Dizzee is lean and long, narrow and corded much like his pops is, the same way Ra Ra is growing into being. Thor is broader, thicker in the limbs. There’s a softness to his solid muscle mass that Dizzee can’t stop thinking about when he’s lying alone in bed at night. 

Thor has a distinct dislike of shirts that Dizzee thanks whatever deities may be out there for. Most often he works shirtless, a distracting expanse of pale skin and flexing muscle. Dizzee especially likes the flex of his forearms as he moves and the sweet curve where his waist narrows in before disappearing under jeans. 

People are beautiful in lots of different ways, Dizzee has always thought. But Thor is the only one that has made him long to reach out and touch, to understand that beauty with his hands, the same way he does with brushes and spray cans. 

The crazy thing is – he’s allowed to. Not only is he allowed to, he’s _encouraged to_. Every time Dizzee reaches out unprovoked to brush a hand over a shoulder, a hip, a hand, Thor will turn his head and smile at him in that way that makes Dizzee go warm all over. 

Thor has had boyfriends before, Dizzee knows, and girlfriends. He knows what to _do_ , in a way that Dizzee has never been curious enough about someone else to find out before now. Dizzee thinks he should probably feel some kind of intimidation, or pressure, but – there just never is any. Desperation, sure, definitely greed, mouths clashing and Thor’s glorious thighs between his own – but it’s so comfortable. It doesn’t sound like the awkward necessity Dizzee has heard classmates and friends talk about in low voices. 

Maybe it’s the art, Dizzee thinks, touching Thor’s bare fingers, strangely naked without their usual rings. The art they make is an entirely different dimension, a physicality Dizzee wouldn’t know how to express except in paint. He thinks of his friends, his brothers, and how they would be able to read every single one of Dizzee’s feelings in the canvases in this studio. He wants to make the whole world feel what he’s feeling right now. He wants them all to _know_. 

Thor makes a sleepy, muffled noise and tightens his arm around Dizzee’s waist. “Dizz? What time is it?” he grumbles. 

Dizzee squeezes around his elbow gently before smoothing his hand down Thor’s forearm. “The time? Who knows,” he says. 

Thor groans and buries his face in Dizzee’s shoulder, golden hair spilling over his chest. “That’s too early.”

Dizzee laughs lightly and tangles his other arm out from under Thor just to wrap it around his back. It settles on the small of Thor’s back where the blanket barely reaches. He can’t help but touch his fingers to the little dimples where his gaze is always drawn; barely dips his fingertips beneath the blanket to feel where the smooth skin continues. Thor is heavy and warm and Dizzee never wants to move. 

“I had a weird dream,” Thor says around a yawn. His fingers are drawing little unknown shapes over Dizzee’s ribs. Thor usually has weird dreams, uses them as fuel for his art. “I was playing the piano but no music came out. So I opened it up and there was an ocean inside and it had covered all of Manhattan. I had to grow fins so I could swim home.” 

“They should call you Aquaman instead.” Thor huffs a small laugh into Dizzee’s chest. For a while they lay there, as lazy as they like. They have nowhere to be. 

Dizzee wraps his hand around Thor’s and lifts them into the air to admire how their fingers twine together in different colors; a piece of art in itself. Dizzee’s nail polish has worn off and there’s a faint line of pale green at the base of his thumb where his ring usually sits. Thor has a small scrape at the heel of his hand and there’s a line of orange under his nails. If Dizzee looks closer the paint has probably stained the wrinkles at his knuckles, too. 

“Sometimes, I think I dreamed you up,” Dizzee says and it feels like a confession. Thor draws his arm back and props himself up on an elbow, eyes searching Dizzee’s face. There’s a little furrow between his eyebrows. “Like I drew you with a magic crayon and just wished hard enough to make you real. And if I look away you’re gonna slip back into the walls.”

Thor’s lips fall open and there’s a look in his eyes that Dizzee can’t describe with words but feels reverberate deep in his chest. 

“Dizz,” Thor breathes. There’s recognition in his voice, like Dizzee took the words right out of his mind, and it’s the biggest relief Dizzee has ever felt. He surges up to press his lips against Thor’s, rolls them over so he can feel the realness of his body underneath his own. 

“Dizzee,” he repeats. He smiles brilliantly, eyes shining blues and greens, hair spread out like a halo, and Dizzee thinks he’d move mountains for this boy. 

Thor’s hands can’t seem to settle, roaming over every part of bared skin they can reach. Dizzee’s shoulders, cheeks, hips, the line of his back; they all tingle with the tenderness of the touch. “You’re the realest thing I’ve got,” he says, kissing a line against Dizzee’s cheekbone. 

It’s like all the chaos that burns inside Dizzee at all times just settles. He’s Dizzee and he’s Rumi and he’s Marcus, all at once, miraculously, and he’s Thor’s, too. “We’re made of the same stuff, aren’t we?” he asks, feeling bright and quiet. “I’m at home when I’m with you, you know?”

“I know,” Thor says, touching his forehead to Dizzee’s, a promise. 

Later, Thor will murmur secrets to him and Dizzee will listen, hands linked together. They will hang another large stretch of canvas on the wall to paint, trading brushes and spray cans with lingering hands. Dizzee will leave a bright, wet handprint on the hip of Thor’s jeans and Thor will smile.  
Later, when the rays of sun have changed their course, they’ll have to figure out what to do with the world outside these sacred walls. 

But for now, they’ve only got each other. And Dizzee feels at peace.

**Author's Note:**

> this is *barely* teen up but there is a bit of nudity involved. a bit. 
> 
> I'm on tumblr as luminarai if you ever want to gush about the alien boys or just chill!


End file.
